


A Time to Run

by Soquilii9



Category: The Tall Man
Genre: Apache Indians Quantrill's Raiders Lincoln NM Friendship, Gen, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:31:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on The Tall Man, Episode Full Payment 1961 - A few years ago, Jack Barron, the leader of an outlaw gang comprised of men who rode with Quantrill's Raiders during the Civil War, came to Lincoln to avenge himself upon Billy Bonney, who was a cattle rustler at the time and killed one of his men.  Thanks to his mentor, Pat Garrett, Billy is trying the straight path now, but there are those still intent on killing him.</p><p>Characters belong, to some extent, history.  Others are credited, for I own nothing:  Samuel A. Peeples, creator; Lincoln County Production Company, Revue Studios and NBC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pat's Advice

William H. Bonney - locally known as Billy the Kid - rode jauntily into Lincoln, New Mexico. His boss, ranch owner John Tundall had charged him with the sale of a small herd of cattle this Friday afternoon. Once the money had been deposited in the bank, Billy was to take the rest of the weekend off.

Billy completed his tasks as ordered; his time now was his own. First he'd say hello to his friend then he'd stop in the cantina for a beer. He jubilantly dismounted and tied his palomino in front of the sheriff's office.

Sheriff Pat Garrett was seated at his desk, going over some wanted posters, ads and letters.

'Whaddaya say, Patrick?' Billy queried in his usual cheerful style. Pat looked over his shoulder at his young friend and frowned.

'Hello, Billy. I'm afraid you won't be so chipper when I tell you what's in the post here,' he said.

'What?' asked Billy, concerned. 'I ain't caused no trouble lately, Patrick.'

'Pull up a chair.'

Billy complied. He sat, habitually curling his hat brim with both hands as was his wont. 'What, uh…what's this about, Patrick?'

'Do you remember Jim Rogers?'

Billy's blank stare gave him the answer.

'Jim rode with Jack Barron…remember? Quantrill's Raiders? He had an issue with you about rustling cattle some years back; in fact, he said you killed one of his ranch hands. Remember now?'

Billy nodded, slowly. 'Jack Barron, uh…he's dead. What does Jim Rogers want with me?'

'To kill you, Billy. Quantrill's…they never really disbanded. Those men never give up. Three of 'em. The sheriff in San Patricio wrote me - just as a professional courtesy - to expect them. He doesn't know about you…but I do. Jim and Jack were pretty close; Jim wants to finish what Jack started. He wants to kill you, Billy.'

Billy wriggled in his chair, got up, walked a few paces, walked back and sat back down in the chair. Here he was, trying to follow the right path, had a job, a friend, a girlfriend, and a bed to call his own in the bunkhouse on the ranch, and somebody could still stalk and kill him. For water under the bridge. Old news. Yesterday's bread! Why couldn't people just live and let live? He stood up and began pacing, saying as much to Pat Garrett.

'A couple of mistakes, years back, I try to go straight, get a job, and I can still get shot just livin' day to day?!'

'Sometimes that's just the way of it, Billy.'

'What should I do? Can you tell me that? Huh?'

'Get out of town.'

'What, you expect me to run from 'em, Patrick?'

'Seems like a good idea. I'd rather you run…'

Billy shot him a hard look.

'…than get killed. I can't spare the time and I don't have the men to watch you twenty-four hours a day.'

Billy thought it over. 'If I run…for more than three days…I lose my job.'

Pat stood up and placed his hand on his young friend's shoulder. 'I'll tell Tundall what's happened and that you left on my suggestion and that you'll be back. You know the man is your friend as much as I am, Billy. You won't lose your job.'

Billy's throat worked as he nodded gratefully. 'You say they're coming from San Patricio?'

Pat nodded. 'The sheriff saw them passing through.'

'San Patricio,' Billy mumbled to himself, 'that's east. I'll go south.'

'Billy, that's Mescalero territory. You know that. Might be more dangerous than meeting up with the Quantrill gang.'

'I'll take my chances.'

Billy started for the door. 'Reckon how long 'til I can come back?'

Pat thought a moment. 'Meet me at the old ruins a week from today. I'll tell you if it's safe to come back to town. That'll mean they've given up and left. If it'll help, I'm willing to tell them you've moved on, and…I don't know where,' Pat smiled.

'Why won't that work now? Just tell 'em I've moved on?'

'Because someone's seen you here recently and apparently tipped 'em off on your whereabouts. Maybe while you're gone I can straighten that out. Remember the old ruins?'

Billy nodded; he knew the old ruins well. They were the charred remains of the old Oberon homestead that still stood on the banks of the river. Nearby were two graves. Teresa Oberon had been dead two years now; Teresa, Pat's wife, killed on her wedding day; buried next to her father at the homestead. Teresa Garrett. They had probably been married all of fifteen minutes. Billy wondered if his friend and mentor had ever really gotten over the loss of his wife.

'One week from today.' Billy shook his friend's hand. 'Thanks, Patrick.'

'They're still a few days out, but get going. Take my pack mule; you'll need it. And be careful.'

'Patrick…I don't like running from trouble.'

'Frankly, Billy, I think it's a skill you should master. You might live longer.'

Billy was grinning when he went out the door.


	2. A Hiding Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy bids farewell to Maria and heads for the high country

Billy heeded a few of Pat's warnings; as usual, not all of them. That would be too much like compliance, and the boy simply wasn't built that way. He didn't take Pat's pack mule and he couldn't resist stopping in to see Maria at the cantina, have a beer or two, and tell her she wouldn't be seeing him for a while.

'Por que, mi Billito? Por que?'

'Ah,' he said, tilting his head back and pulling her closer to him, 'there's somethin' I gotta do, no sense talkin' about it 'til I get it done. Don't you worry about it. I'll be back as soon as I can.' He took a deep breath and repeated the promise. 'I'll be back, and we'll make up for lost time. That's a promise. That's a solemn promise.'

He looked down at her. Holding her chin tenderly in his fingers, he kissed her.

'Te quiero, Maria.'

'Siempre te quiero, Billito!'

He turned and headed out the cantina door.

Maria had known Billy a long time. She felt something was wrong; felt that he shouldn't go. No sense arguing with him or asking him not to go; Billy did as he pleased. All she could do was cross herself and whisper to his retreating back: 'Caminar con Dios, my Billito! Vaya con Dios!'

That night, before she went to bed, she prayed a rosary for Billy to ensure his safe return.

Billy left town in the dead of night, saddlebags bulging with food and ammunition.

-oOo-

In the northern foothills of the Sacramento mountain range were limestone caverns of all sizes; some merely a covered shelf in a rockface, some deep enough to build a town in. Billy had used one or another of the smaller ones on several occasions. They afforded shelter and relief from the heat; some of the deeper ones even had water sources. The trick was not to get lost or trapped!

The one he sought would make a passable hideout. The Quantrill gang, no doubt bearing down on Lincoln at that very moment, was of little consequence now. However, the Apaches might not take kindly to him using their land for any reason, and there were always renegade bands across the border making trouble He'd run into that before. He'd have to stay on the alert; not show himself any more than necessary; build small campfires. Luckily, spring was the right season. Not too cold.

He didn't fear hunger, either, for in addition to the canned beans, coffee and jerky in his saddlebags as well as oats for his beloved palomino, there were rabbits, squirrels and birds as well as bigger game such as bear or elk. It seemed he was set; all he had to do was wait it out.

Before, the townspeople had raised a ruckus about coming together to help the sheriff stave off the Quantrill gang. This time, he figured it was just as well he took himself out of the equation. Make it easier for Patrick.

He set up a campsite inside a wall cut in a small canyon with a good overhang and a recessed area that might be called a room if he stretched his imagination. The wall cut was big enough so his palomino could be tied within at night and allowed to graze outside during the day.

As for the recess, a small trickle of water ran along the back of it, most likely runoff from rivers that snaked through this area. He dug with his knife until he had a small basin to catch and hold some of the runoff and drained it away so it wouldn't flood his new home. It was the coldest and sweetest water he had ever tasted.


	3. Trouble in Lincoln

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on The Tall Man, Full Payment - 1961

Back in Lincoln, Jim Rogers and his Quantrill raiders were making life hell for Pat Garrett. The townspeople refused to stand behind him like they had done once before; one showdown had been enough. They went about their business, ignoring the situation until it escalated. The original gang of three armed men had been increased to seven during their ride to Lincoln. They bore down on Lincoln in a destructive, systematic search for Billy the Kid. Storeowners, the blacksmith, the cantina and the small café suffered loss of property and harassment; even the adobe church was searched and threatened with the torch if Billy wasn't turned over to them.

Pat Garrett stood in the street with a shotgun and a loaded ammunition belt, ready to do battle for his town. That morning, he'd planned and put into effect a ruse that he hoped might relieve the situation but it was going to take time.

The first person to stand with him was the blacksmith.

'Thanks, Harry,' said Pat.

'Guess I can't let you do it alone, Sheriff. There's more of them than we figured.'

'If we can hold them off until the telegraph office sends me a message I think they'll leave.'

One by one the townspeople, shamefaced, came to stand with their sheriff while the gang bore down on them.

'All you gotta do is give us Bonney, Sheriff, and we'll be gone. Save yourself a town. We've been told he was here. Living here; working here. We're gonna hit the homesteads next. Just tell us where he's hiding,' Jim Rogers demanded.

'Who told you Bonney was here?'

Jim pointed with his rifle at Clyde Baker, one of Tundall's ranch hands.

'Maybe Clyde's mistaken. Ever think of that? Besides, why are you all so hell-bent on killing Bonney? Is there more to it than just one dead cattle rustler?'

Before Jim could answer, Frank, the telegraph operator, burst from his small office waving a message. 'Sheriff! Telegraph message!'

Pat took the message, read it swiftly, and walked up to Jim Rogers sitting menacingly on his horse.

'There's your answer.'

Jim snatched the paper out of the sheriff's hand and read it. 'Damn!' he exclaimed.

'What is it, Jim?' one of the gang demanded to know.

'He's headed for Mexico. This here is a message to all county sheriffs to be on the lookout for Billy the Kid, last seen nearing the border to Mexico. Shoot on sight.'

Jim crumpled the message into a ball and threw it in Pat's direction.

'I'll be damned if I follow that little weasel all the way to Mexico. By now he's lying in the desert somewhere on his way to being a skeleton.'

'There's that possibility,' said Pat with a straight face. 'You got what you came for - at least you know his whereabouts. It's not here. Why don't you all go on and leave us in peace?'

'Huh. Fun while it lasted anyway, huh, fellas?'

His gang circled their horses and shot their guns in the air.

'Guess we'll leave you fine folks to clean up. No sense staying around here!'

The gang raised a cloud of dust as they rode out of town.

Pat Garrett breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to his townspeople and thanked them.

After they dispersed, the telegraph operator winked at Pat. 'Good idea you had, sending that telegram to El Paso,' he said. 'It worked.'

'It's what's called a preemptive strike. Sometimes you have to play by a different set of rules. Thanks for the help.' Pat slapped his hand on his companion's shoulder and set off to saddle his horse. He was due to meet Billy in the morning, and he was carrying good news for his friend.

-oOo-

By Billy's calculations, tomorrow was the day he was to rendezvous with Pat Garrett at the old ruins. This past week had gone by like lightning. Billy only hoped the gang had left Lincoln in peace by now.

At any rate, his supply of food would need replenishing; if he had to go back into hiding Pat could bring him some supplies. For now, he had to bag a rabbit or two if he was going to eat today. He set out early in the morning and had succeeded in shooting two fat rabbits before noon. He tied them to his saddle horn and started back to the cave, riding the crest of a ridge.

He was almost there when two shots rang out, then the whiz of an arrow pierced the air. All three weapons found their mark. Three renegade Apaches were on Billy before he hit the ground. As they kicked and punched their helpless captive, three more shots were fired in their direction from below the ridge. Just before he passed out, Billy figured the whole tribe was after him. The blows stopped as all three renegades dropped dead. Billy was senseless by the time his savior stood over him, surveying the damage. The lone figure stripped the bodies of the renegades, caught Billy's horse and one of the trio's horses, packed everything on one horse and somehow loaded Billy's limp form over his palomino's back. They started back to the cave together. The bodies of the Indians would be hidden with rocks and brush later. What they didn't need now was a signpost of their whereabouts - either of them.

It was dark before Billy came to, groaning. He'd been shot through his right shoulder and right arm, and an arrow shaft still protruded from his thigh. He found himself half nude, lying on a thick bed of pine branches. His arm and shoulder, wrapped in what looked like his shirt, stung like fire. A gourd of water lay within reach. Wildly thirsty, he reached for it but fell back weakly. He tried again without success and was trying a third time when his rescuer appeared in the opening to the recessed room. In agony, he thought he must be dreaming as the light from the small flickering fire lit her features: young, slender, dark-skinned, her braided hair coiled on the back of her head, clad in a deerskin dress and boots. 

A _girl_ had rescued him?


	4. The Little Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on The Tall Man, Full Payment - 1961

'Can you … do you speak English?' he whispered.

She nodded. 'Some,' she said.'

'Were you the one … did you shoot those men?' he paused to catch his breath. 'Did I hear right? Was it you?'

She nodded. 'Three on one no fair I think. You on the hunt; you not bother them. They attack you no reason.'

'You … you were watching me? Saw them come up …'

'They Apache. I hate Apache.'

'Why? Aren't you Apache?'

'No, Zuni tribe. No more now talk. You rest. You need water. I get bullets out already from you but arrow must come out.'

'You're the doctor…' he grinned feebly.

She knelt beside him and guided the gourd to his mouth. He drank greedily. Shifting on his bed, trying to get up, brought a grunt of agony. He fell back into unconsciousness.

Taking advantage of that, the Indian girl took her knife and cut the leg of his pants to expose the arrow. Raising his knee and resting it on her shoulder, she cut through the arrow at each end to remove the fletching and the barbed tip. Using Billy's gun as a hammer, she laid the flat of the knife against the tip of the arrow protruding from the top of his thigh, aimed, and hammered it through. Billy rose violently out of his stupor, vomiting. She quickly rolled him to his side. When the spell passed, she cleaned him and brought moss that had been cooking in a pot on the fire. She pressed the moss deeply into the holes in his leg and wrapped the remainder of his cotton shirt around it.

He had borne the treatment stoically; white teeth set in a grimace and sweat pouring down his face, but now he breathed easier. She covered him with a blanket. He was in less pain and more alert.

'Moss stop blood, make well soon if you not get hot.'

'Hot ... you mean a fever?' he whispered.

She nodded.

He gazed up at the flickering light on the rocky ceiling. 'Feeling a little hot right now but I guess it's this heavy blanket.' He picked up a corner of the wool cover with his good hand and peered at it. 'It's not mine.'

'No, mine. I make. Bring with me.'

'Bring? From where? Where did you come from?'

She looked at him. A white man wasn't going to betray her, especially this white man. He could barely move. 'I tell but you stay still. Just listen.'  
He waited for her to continue.

'You know what Zuni word is for Apache?'

'Uh … I speak a little Spanish but not much Indian.'

'Word is enemy. We call them enemy. That what Apache mean in Zuni language.'

'I knew ya'll didn't get along, but…'

'I taken as very young girl. Make slave. Live as slave.'

Billy looked at her with new interest. 'You're an Apache slave?'

She took her knife from her belt, staring intently at him. 'You tell anyone. You try to take me back, I kill you.'

'I believe you would,' he said, deadpan.

'They make life hard. Too hard. Get beaten. Used. One night I see chance get free and I take. Trader sell rum; everybody drunk. So I run. I run all night. I hide in day. Run all night again. Catch rabbit, kill, eat raw. Drink from river. Sleep in tree. Run all night.'

Damn. Not many full grown men could have done that. 'How long … how long have you been running? How far, do you know?'

'Not know how far. Run maybe seven suns.'

_She'd been on the run for a week. Since before he had left Lincoln. It was time for her to run, just as it's been for me. 'Cept it's been a damned sight harder for her … alone, young as she is …_

'How old are you?' 

'Old?' she asked, not understanding. 

'How many winters?' 

She was silent, thinking. She shook her head. She didn't know. 

'You look to be eighteen or nineteen,' he estimated. She shrugged. It didn't matter to her. What mattered was survival. 

'You sleep, you rest. You bad hurt. I feed horses then I bring you rabbit stew.' 

He nodded, smiling. _At least those bastards didn't get my rabbits._ He fell asleep. 


	5. The Rendezvous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on The Tall Man, Full Payment - 1961

The old ruins were just as Pat remembered. He didn't go near the site any more than was necessary. The charred remnants of the house and the two graves represented painful memories, and Pat Garrett kept those close to home, not sharing them with anyone. What was done was done. Only on occasion did he allow himself to wonder what life would have been like if Teresa had lived…

Pat rode the perimeter, looking around. Billy's palomino would be easily spotted; the silky blonde mane and tail refused to blend with the surroundings. Pat often wondered, if Billy was intent on riding the fence between the law and lawlessness, why he didn't get a less conspicuous animal; a bay gelding or something. Youth, of course. Youth was the answer.

He risked calling out to his friend but there was no answer. He got down off his horse and led it to the river to drink. He couldn't be away from Lincoln long, but he could spare a few more hours in case Billy was held up.

The shadows grew long. Pat wasn't worried yet. There were a hundred reasons why Billy hadn't made the rendezvous.

-oOo-

A week went by; then two. Billy never showed. Pat rode out to the old ruins nearly every day. There was no sign of him. Pat's worst fears rose to the surface: had Quantrill's gang happened upon him? Was Billy indeed, only a corpse lying in the desert somewhere?

All Pat could do was wait. He stopped going to the old ruins. He concentrated on work. He missed his friend's cheeky greeting, _Whaddaya say, Patrick?_ more than he let on. The townspeople never asked about Billy.

_Figure they'd been at the mercy of his actions enough,_ he thought. _Maybe I don't blame 'em._

Only Tundall inquired regularly of Billy. Pat learned that Tundall had fired Clyde Baker. Not only had Clyde tipped off Jim Rogers, he'd attempted to rustle some of Tundall's own stock. Clyde had vanished before Pat could arrest him. It could be that Billy Bonney lay dead because of a bullet from Clyde's gun…


	6. A Time of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on The Tall Man, Full Payment - 1961

Billy could eat only a little of the rabbit stew, which was a shame, because it was the best he'd ever had. This little gal took trail cooking to a whole new level. Wild onions and some kind of herb made all the difference. He'd never liked his own cooking, anyhow … still, it wasn't enough to even think about getting married … or getting a squaw.

Such were Billy's thoughts as he continued to mend. He did develop a fever; one day when it spiked, the girl - whose name, he had learned, was Taci - helped him to an icy stream that contributed to the runoff that coursed through the cave they were living in. It was so cold he fought her with what strength he had, but she held him under water with only his face showing for almost an hour. By the time she got him back to the cave, his fever had broken. He slept for a long time after that, bundled under both her blanket and his. Taci was content to sleep on her pine bed, warmed by a small fire.

After Billy awoke, he was hungry, and from that time on his recovery was slow but steady.

'How many suns since I was shot?' he asked her one day.

She showed him, on the wall of the cave she had scraped a burned stick to mark the time. He was astonished when he counted nearly twenty days. A thought occurred to him.

'Hey … Taci … no one's come looking for you?'

She shook her head.

'That's a good thing, huh?'

'Maybe if I walking I get caught. But staying here … this place … hide good,' she said, fumbling over the words.

'Secluded. Yeah, that's why I picked it.'

'I never ask, why you hide?'

Billy ran a hand through his hair. 'Somebody was out to kill me.'

Taci surprised him by actually laughing. 'We lose!'

'Actually,' he said, laughing and wincing because it hurt, 'the word is _won_. We _won._ I'm alive and you're free. We did it, Taci.'

'Now what.' She was suddenly solemn. The future must be dealt with.

'Tell you what. In a day or two I expect to be able to ride. We go to Lincoln. My buddy, Patrick, probably thinks I'm dead. Honestly, I don't know whether he's gonna be glad to see me or shoot himself in the head…'

Taci looked at Billy in alarm. 'No,' he hastened to assure her, 'nothing like that. I make joke.'

'Best you not ride, Billy. We take you in travois.'

Billy sat up. It hurt too much; he lay back down.

'Maybe you're right,' he conceded.

-oOo-

Harry the blacksmith was the first to see the strange convoy approaching Lincoln. An Indian girl mounted on Billy Bonney's palomino was leading a bay gelding. The palomino had been rigged with a travois. Bundled on the travois lay Billy the Kid.

Harry ran for the sheriff.

Pat Garrett came out of his office just in time to see the girl halt the horse in the street and dismount. Fearful of a town of white people, she kept her head down, holding the reins, kneeling by Billy.

Pat Garrett ran up. Billy greeted him in his usual cocky manner, although his voice was thin. 'Whaddaya say, Patrick?'

'Damn, son, I'd just about given you up for dead,' he said. Several townspeople gathered around; one of them went for the doctor.

'He … he ok, just weak,' the girl assured the sheriff.

'And who might you be?' he asked her sternly.

'Patrick, there's no problem here … if it hadn't been for this girl I'd be as dead as you thought.'

Harry and two other men picked Billy up off the travois. 'Take him in my office to the back room,' directed Pat. 'There's a bunk there.' He directed one of the young boys to take the horses to the stable.

-oOo-

For the next week, Pat let Billy stay in the back room until he was completely healed. Tundall was glad to get his cowhand back, and Billy was glad to hear that Clyde Baker wouldn't be troubling him anymore.

Maria, after her initial outpourings of concern, love and devotion, eyed the young Indian girl with a jealous gleam in her eye. Billy reassured her and both she and Taci took turns with his care. Billy returned to the bunkhouse on Tundall's ranch and in a few weeks, was his old self again.

He got Taci a job as a housemaid in Tundall's home and coached her in English when he had time. Now the young girl had a home, a job and a future.

For the time being, Billy the Kid concentrated on his work, with his mentor Pat Garrett helping him walk the right path. Billy knew it couldn't last, however, for his reputation continued to grow and trouble seemed to follow. Anyone in the west that fast with a gun and with lightning fists was never truly safe from harm.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> John Tundall: This pronunciation was used in the TV series; the correct spelling was John Tunstall.


End file.
